


The Thirty-Ninth Rule

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-13 02:07:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16883592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: This prompt(there is more but I don't want to give away too much more) was posted by the lovely purpleplusher on tumblr this afternoon, and I couldn't help myself...Instead of John being impressed by Sherlock's deductions at Bart's, he is offended and stomps off before he learns Sherlock's name and address... later, he realises he can't stop thinking about the rude man from the lab and changes his mind...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpleplusher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleplusher/gifts).



“I know you’re an Army doctor and you’ve been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a brother who’s worried about you but you won’t go to him for help because you don’t approve of him – possibly because he’s an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic – quite correctly, I’m afraid… That’s enough to be going on with, don’t you think?“ 

Sherlock hadn’t deduced anyone to their faces in months, after the last time - well, the last time had ended with his jaw wired shut for two months, and he had sworn off of new people long ago, but there was something about this man that intrigued him. Still, he wasn’t quite expecting his reaction.

“Who the bloody hell do you think you are? Mike? What the - I finally leave my ridiculous bedsit for the first time - no, fuck this. Fuck you too - whatever your name is.” He turned on his heel and stormed out of the lab, as fast as he could on his stick.

Sherlock shrugged and muttered to himself. “Told you, Mike… I’ll never find a flatmate…”

 

“Who the fuck does he think he is…” John muttered to himself as he opened the door to his one room bedsit, dropped down onto his bed, stretched out and stared at the same ceiling he’d been staring at day after day, night after night for the last three months since he’d been back in London, when the flash of - what colour eyes did he have anyway? Blue? Green? Brown… and he hadn’t seen cheekbones like that since that bloke - damn it. Breathe. Just breathe.

“Breathe. Great, talking to yourself out loud, now that’s healthy.” He sighed and reached for his phone, and simply out of curiosity, not because he was interested at all in the - the gorgeous man who could see just about everything about him in a single glance, pulled up the text he had just sent.

 

If brother has green ladder arrest brother SH

 

“Fuck!” John closed his eyes and stared up at the ceiling again, and suddenly knew that if he spent one more week in this grey hole in the wall, he would lose what was left of his mind. He pulled up the staff directory for Bart’s and found Mike Stamford’s phone number.

“Mike, yeah, it’s John. That bloke, the one in the lab - yeah, the tall, dark haired arse with the eyes - what’s ‘is name? Sherlock? What kind of - never mind - Holmes? Geez, no wonder - is he still there? Damn. Yeah? 221 B Baker Street? Yeah I know where that is. If you see him - hell - if you see him - I’ll be there at seven tomorrow. Yeah, thanks - no, really, yeah.” He ended the call, then hurled himself from his bed, limped the two steps to his desk, fell into his chair and opened his laptop. He rolled his eyes, but still entered “Sherlock Holmes” into the Google search bar and was pleasantly surprised for the first time in years.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stomped up the seventeen steps to his flat and rolled his eyes as he saw Mrs. Hudson dusting the mantle again. “Mrs. Hud-SON!”

She ignored him as she always did when she knew a strop was brewing, and kept dusting, but noting a slight difference in the way he hung up his coat, she stopped and lightly asked, “find someone for the upstairs room, yet, love?”

“Nope.” He paused as he toed off his shoes then sat on the edge of the couch. “I nearly got punched in the jaw again, though…” He rubbed the left side of his face as if he could remember the punch that wasn’t thrown.

“And you’d been doing so well since the last time… who was it this time? Did that nice Mr. Lestrade finally lose his temper?”

Sherlock flopped fully onto the couch and muttered, “No, that nice Mr. Lestrade just gave me the brush off… I know there’s a case he’s working on, but won’t tell me about it…”

“What is it, dear?”

“The man who wanted to hit me - but didn’t - he stomped away instead… there was something about him… doesn’t matter…”

 

Sherlock - John changed his mind, will be at Baker Street 7pm tomorrow. I’ll text him to not bother if you’re not interested. - MS

 

Sherlock tried his best not to smile, but couldn’t help himself and Mrs. Hudson caught his reflection in the mirror. “Good news?” She asked quietly.

“Just maybe, Mrs. Hudson, possibly the best news I’ve had in years. That chair - the one that’s in your flat?”

“The pink one - yes, of course, dear, now be careful, I can ask the married ones to help you -”

“No, I’ll be fine.” He jumped up from the couch, slid his feet back into his shoes, then grabbed her by the hand and spun her around. She squeaked happily at him, then pushed him away after he kissed her cheek.

“Just be -”

“I know, Mrs. H. I just have a feeling about him. Nothing logical about it, but he’s perfect… you’ll see.” And with a grin that could power half of London, he dashed back down the seventeen steps.

 

Neither John or Sherlock slept at all that night, which might explain what happened on the night they met ‘officially’ for the first time.

“Mr….”

“Call me Sherlock, please.” Sherlock smiled at him and offered him his hand. John would learn later that a polite Sherlock didn’t always mean what it means for roughly 85.7 percent of the rest of the world. “Mrs. Hudson -”

“Dr. John Watson -”

“Ohhhh… a doctor, Sherlock -”

Sherlock could feel John’s glare at his back and shook his head just enough for her to notice, and she sighed to herself, but opened the door for them anyway. Sherlock flew up the stairs to give John some space as he made his way upstairs. The stairs… of course, he should have said something about the stairs - he made short work of them however and Sherlock paused, then opened the door for him, trying to regain some of his composure he had lost.

“Yes, this is very nice, could be very nice indeed… just need to clear up some of the junk…”

Sherlock froze, and stared at him as John dropped heavily into the chair that he managed to get up the seventeen steps on his own. He had spent hours straightening and actually cleaning to make it as presentable as it was. “Right. Well, I suppose I can -”

“Oh, I see - you’ve already moved in then. I suppose -”

“You suppose… what… exactly?” 

Mrs. Hudson could hear Sherlock’s ‘my rights are getting infringed upon’ tone creep into his voice, so she cleared her throat and began, “So Sherlock what about those odd ‘suicides’ there have been three now, haven’t there?”

Sherlock turned as the sound of sirens, and heavy, but determined footsteps made their way up the steps. “Four. There’s been a fourth…”

“Where?” He turned to face DI Greg Lestrade who was out of breath as he made his way through the open door.

“Brixton. Will you come?”

“What’s different this time?”

“You know how they never leave a note? Well, this one did.”

“I won’t come in the car. Text me the address and I’ll get a cab.”

“Thank you.” Lestrade turned and flew back down the steps, without giving John a second glance. John looked at Mrs. Hudson, who was already attempting to straighten the disaster of a kitchen, then over at Sherlock again to see the man’s face transform from a petulant posh, into nothing short of a lad at Christmas who had just received his dreamed of present.

“Four suicides and now a note! It’s Christmas!” He jumped into the air and bellowed at Mrs. Hudson. “I’ll be late, might need supper - just something cold will do… John - John might need a cup of tea - laters!”

“Yes, dear, he’s always like that - you though… hmmm… I can tell, you are more a sitting down type, let me get you that cuppa, you rest your leg -”

“Damn my leg!!” John bit his lip as he knew he had overreacted - and hastened to apologise, as he snapped the rubber band on his wrist. “I am sorry, so very sorry. Tea would be lovely…”

“Just this once, dear…”

“She’s not really my, our housekeeper… you’re a doctor.”

“Yes.”

“An Army doctor…” Sherlock watched him get to his feet, and saw the strong, proud man under the clean but cheap civilian clothes. “Any good?”

“Very good.” Not boasting. Not a boastful man, just speaking the truth. Sherlock nodded at him.

“Seen a lot of injuries, then, a lot of death… danger…”

“Yes. Far too much, enough for a lifetime…” Proud, decorated soldier… misses it.

“Want to see some more?”

“Oh, god. Yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

Usually Sherlock would hum a bit of a composition he was working on, or talk through what he knew about the crime scene he was heading to, but he had the distinct feeling both would bother the man who sat within reaching - within touching distance from him… finally after a minute and a half the silence was too much for him.

“You have questions…”

“Where are we going?”

“Crime scene… obviously. Next?” God, I had such hopes… but he’s just like everyone else -

“Who are you? I mean, what do you do? I checked out your website yesterday, but -” John shrugged and turned towards the window.

“What do you think I am?” Sherlock asked abruptly, trying not to care what he had thought of his blog, the blog no one had ever glanced at.

John turned back and looked him over for a moment. “I’d say private detective… but-”

“But, what?” Sherlock growled out impatiently.

“Scotland Yard doesn’t use amateurs.”

Sherlock felt for his packet of cigarettes, knowing he didn’t have one, then remembered the patch on his arm and took a deep breath, and let it go slowly before speaking again. “When I met you, yesterday. You seemed surprised that I could tell you had been in Afghanistan.”

“Surprised, yeah. That’s a word.” He turned back towards the window and muttered, “how did you know?”

“I didn’t know, I saw. Military stance, haircut. The tan line stopped at your wrist. So. Military. Been somewhere for a lengthy amount of time with a lot of sun that hasn’t faded this late in January. Afghanistan or Iraq. Doctor, that was easy, I heard you speaking to Stamford as you entered the lab, you had trained there.”

“My therapist?” Sherlock bit his lip, he knew he had gone too far with that revelation yesterday, but shrugged, might as well go all in at this point.

“Back from military service with a psychosomatic limp, of course you have a bloody therapist.” Sherlock sighed and leaned against the window, the itch for a cigarette was reaching epic proportions.

“How could you possibly know about… the drinking?”

Sherlock sat up and grinned to himself. “I thought it might be a stretch, but I observed the scratches around where your brother would attach his charger, he’s had a bit of trouble, hands were shaking. You rarely see those scratches on a sober person’s phone - nearly always present on an alcoholic’s.” He took a breath and found his own hand had stopped shaking. “So you see, you were right.”

“I was right?” John faced him again and studied him for a moment. “About…?”

“Scotland Yard doesn’t consult amateurs.”

John’s eyes brightened, then he let out a sharp bark of laughter and mumbled under his breath. “That was amazing.”

“Hmm?”

“No - it was - you’re an arse, but that was bloody brilliant.”

Sherlock blinked at him for a moment and blurted out, “that’s not what most people say…”

John raised an eyebrow and Sherlock saw the sparks of gold in the dark eyes flash at him. “What do most people say?”

“Piss off.”

“Yeah,” John snorted and leaned against the window again. “I bet… ‘m not most people.” Sherlock heard the last whispered bit but chose not to make a judgment yet.

 

“So… did I get anything wrong?” Sherlock asked smugly as they were walking towards the flashing lights and yellow tape.

“Harry and I don’t get on, never have…”

“Didn’t think I’d get everything -”

“Harry is short for… Harriet.” 

John chuckled just loud enough for Sherlock to hear it and he swore as he tripped over a crack in the pavement. “Sister! There’s always something -”

“So, what am I doing here, exactly?” John asked him as Sherlock lifted the tape for him.

“Hullo, Freak…” a plainclothes officer approached them and John watched Sherlock’s whole body go into fight mode.

“Donovan.”

“Why are you here?” Arms crossed. Plain dislike written in the woman’s face. Sherlock had definitely made at least one enemy at the Yard.

“I was asked to take a look.”

“Uh-huh. Who’s he?” John felt her icy glare down to his bones and shivered.

“Sergeant Sally Donovan, my colleague, Dr. John -”

“A colleague? You? How did you acquire a colleague -” Shit, she really hates him.

“Anderson. We meet again -” John nearly laughed out loud as the shorter mousy looking man tried to stare Sherlock down.

“I don’t want my scene disturbed. Is that clear?”

“Crystal…hmmmm…”

Oh hell… here it comes. John didn’t know whether to duck or get ready to put up his fists, or to see if he could find another cab back to his bedsit.

“Wife out of town for long?”

John sucked on his lip to stop from giggling.

“Who told you?” Anderson glared at Donovan, who rolled her eyes at him and shrugged.

“Your deodorant -”

Hell…

“It’s for men.”

“Of course it’s for men, I’m wearing it.”

“Yep. So is Donovan, guessing she didn’t get home last night…” John couldn’t hold the chuckle in this time as Sherlock grinned at Donovan.

“Upstairs.” She hissed at him through her teeth.

“Thank you, so much.”

“Boss. Freak on his way up.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the crime scene...

“Here… you’ll have to put this on.” Sherlock shoves a blue jumpsuit at John as Lestrade finally sees that Sherlock isn’t alone.

“Who’s he?”

“He’s with me.”

“But -”

“I said, ‘he’s with me.’“

“Nah. I’ve had to pull enough strings just to get you in there…” John manages to get the suit on and snorts as he knows Lestrade has already lost the argument.

“Go ahead. Two minutes. That’s all I can give you.”

“Might need more than that,” Sherlock spits out, then crosses into the room where a well-dressed woman in pink is face down on the floor and John watches with astonishment as the man before him changes. Lestrade shrugs and moves out of his way and John is trying not to breathe too loudly.

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t say a word.” John mutters quietly, and he shudders at the sound his voice makes, it’s way too loud.

“You’re thinking.”

“What?!”

“Just -” He drops to his knees near the victim’s head, and spots the letters R A C H E near her hand. Revenge? No… Rachel… yes, a name, not a word. He runs a gloved finger under her collar, then searches her pockets and finds a dry umbrella. He presses his hands together and John doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more beautiful in his life. Sherlock shakes his head, then slides the woman’s wedding band from her finger and a slight grin crosses his face.

“Gimme.”

“She’s German.” Anderson has somehow entered the room and has decided to make his presence known.

“NO.” Sherlock pushes the ring back onto her finger, gets to his feet and quickly moves to shut the door in Anderson’s face. John notes with a slight chuckle that Anderson didn’t seem all that surprised.

“She’s German?” Lestrade asks in disbelief.

“No, of course she’s not German, but she is from out of town, Cardiff, obviously.”

John sputters out. “Obviously.”

“Really? I wonder what it’s like not to be me. Must be so boring… she came from somewhere it was raining recently. She had pulled her collar up to protect herself from the rain, it’s wet. She did not use her umbrella, too windy, so it’s dry. And the only place where it’s been raining recently with high winds was,” he pulls out his phone to show them a weather map of Cardiff. “All together now, Cardiff.”

“Amazing,” John utters, almost involuntarily, and Sherlock pauses for a moment to look at him.

“Where’s her suitcase?”

“Suitcase?” Lestrade asks, confused.

“Yes, she was going to be here for one night, there’s a trail of mud splatters up the back of one leg, size of an overnight bag, probably was going to meet one of her many lovers, so where is it?”

“Lovers???”

“The wedding band. All of her other jewelry is cleaned regularly, except for her wedding ring. The inside, however is shiny, as if she works it off frequently. Who would she do that for? Think… she would have a laptop, a phone - to carry on with all those lovers, she would never have left it at home… she’s too careful, too clever for that.. now. Where is it?”

John blinks down at him and shakes his head. “Just brilliant.”

Sherlock gets to his feet and mumbles for John’s hearing only, “you know you do that out loud?”

“Sorry. I’ll shut up now.”

“No, it’s fine. SUITCASE! There was a suitcase!” Sherlock strides out of the room and down the rickety steps.

“There was no suitcase, Sherlock.” Lestrade yells down to him.

“Of course there was - oh. Ohhhhh…. god… we’ve got ourselves a serial killer… clever… but they always make a mistake… and we have a mistake.”

“Mistake? What mistake?” Lestrade bellows back at him. “Sherlock!”

“Pink!” And before John can think or breathe, he’s gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first two rules...

“Come at once, if convenient? If inconvenient, come all the same? Well?”

“Oh, you’re back. Tea.”

“Tea. TEA?”

“Problem?”

“Yeah. There’s a problem. There are gonna be some rules if this is going to work.”

“This?” Sherlock opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Sharing a flat. This. Us.”

“Us?”

“Rule number one. Tea. I make my own damn tea. You make your tea. Rule number two -”

“Wait a minute, are you going to be the sole author of these ‘rules?’ “

“No, of course not, but since you are under the mistaken impression that I am simply your errand boy and tea maker…”

“Whoa!” That got Sherlock off the couch and standing at his full height. “Errand boy?”

“Yeah, some posh twat kidnapped me from the road where you left me. Actually, come to think of it, it wouldn’t surprise me if he were related to you.”

“Hell.”

John pinched his nose and swore. “Your brother.”

“Three piece suit and an umbrella?”

“Black sedan. Did a nice trick with the CCTV, nice looking woman in the backseat, his assistant?”

“Damn. Sorry. What did he offer you?”

“Offer me?”

“He asked you to spy on me, didn’t he?”

John relaxed a bit and couldn’t help but grin. “He’s done this before.”

“Graham was the first.”

“Graham?”

“Lestrade, the DI you didn’t actually meet tonight.”

“I think his name is Greg.”

“Really? Hmm. Could be, can never remember. He was the first one I knew about, he was the first to turn down the money, at any rate. You -”

“Turned him down flat, of course.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the shorter man and crossed his arms. “Of course? I know you could use the money. If he tries again, accept. But now that he’s met you, and you were delivered here safely, he won’t ask again. He’s probably going to drown his sorrows in - never mind about him. You said something about rule number two?”

“Don’t ever leave me behind again, you arse. Should be rule number one, but the tea thing came up first.”

“So, tea is the first rule by default.”

“Yer gonna argue the order with me?” John spun away from Sherlock’s imperious smirk and spotted the pink case on the desk. “You found the case?”

“The case?”

“The pink lady’s case.”

“Right. The case. Case. Damn. I need you to text someone.”

“What, wait? You texted me to come back here to text someone for you? Don’t you have your own phone?”

“I do, but I don’t want to use my phone. It might get recognised -”

“From?”

“From my website, of course.”

“The website I found last night?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about anyone tracking you through that - it’s -”

“It’s what?” Sherlock’s easy mood was quickly vanishing.

“Hmmm, it’s just - a bit - it reads like a dissertation.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“If you want the average person -”

“Why would an average person choose to read it?”

John closed his eyes, and snapped the rubber band on his wrist three times, before he could catch his breath. “Tea. I’m making tea, do you want a cuppa?”

“Please. If you don’t mind.”


	6. Chapter 6

What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must’ve blacked out, 22 Northumberland St. Please come.

 

“Did you send it?”

“Yes, yes.”

“I didn’t kill her by the way.”

John opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, and wondered if he was still being watched by the creepy brother, then shook his head. “I never said you did.”

“Well, it would be a logical assumption. I said her killer took her case, and here it is, in my flat.”

John glared at him, then sighed as he heard his stomach growl. “I try not to make assumptions. Do people often think you’re a murderer?”

“Sometimes,” Sherlock said with a bit of a wistful grin, and as much as John’s instinct was to run from this flat, from this odd and possibly completely mental man who sat across from him, his heart wanted to know, needed to hear all of the madman’s stories.

His phone buzzed in his hand and Sherlock’s grin turned into the broadest smile John had ever seen.

“Wait a minute. Did you just have me text a murderer?”

 

"Damn, Mrs. Hudson took my skull again. You can come with me, or stay here and watch telly..."

"So, now I'm filling in for your skull?"

"Relax, you're doing fine."

 

"The victims... somehow they end up dead in places they'd never go in life... so the murderer is hunting... random people, no sign of violence on them, so there isn't a struggle..."

"Why is he doing it?"

"Wants to be seen, recognised, John. Genius - he thinks he's a genius, but genius needs an audience... he craves an audience... who do we trust, John? in this city, of millions of people, these four people just vanish.. who???"

John watches the wheels churning and mutters out, "no idea."

"Me either, hungry?"

 

"Sherlock!"

"Angelo, this is John."

"John! Your table is free, as always, dinner is on the house for you and your date. Let me get a candle, more romantic that way, hmm?" He winks at John knowingly.

"I'm not his date." John muttered at Angelo's back.

"Don't worry about Angelo, he's just relieved I left the skull at home, it's a bit off-putting to the other customers when I start babbling about murder to a skull."

"So you think he's just going to show up."

"He will... he needs to know, how a dead woman texted him..." Sherlock turned his focus towards the corner of Northumberland, ignoring, or forgetting John's presence.

"You do know -"

"Hmm?"

"Your brother -"

"What about him?"

"He said you considered him your 'arch-enemy.'

"Your point being?"

"People don't have 'arch-enemies.' There are no arch-enemies any more, I don't think." John nodded his thanks to Angelo as he put a heaping bowl of food in front of him, and he realised again how hungry he was, for the first time in months.

"Boring. So. What do 'people' have then?"

"Hmm?"

"If there are no arch-enemies or heroes, what do people have, then?"

"Friends, people they like, people they don't like... girlfriends... do you have a girlfriend?"

Sherlock sighed and finally turned to look at John. "Not really my area... no."

"Boyfriend, then? It's fine - if -"

"I know, it's fine."

"So?"

"NO."

John blinked at him for a moment then let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Unattached, then - like me."

Sherlock stared at him, and John wondered what he could and couldn't see, hoped against hope... no, wait. No. It wasn't - completely not - there was no way he could be interested at all in -"

"I - hmm. How can I put this? I am flattered by your - hmm, interest, but the work, the cases - nothing can get in the way of my work, think of it this way - most people have jobs, hobbies - and they can, they have the ability to have relationships at the same time. I consider myself married to my work - but I - uhm -"

"No. NO, it's fine, it's all fine."

Sherlock nodded at him, and returned his focus to what was happening on the street. "Good. Thank you, John."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a short bit...

“Rule number three -” John growled out as he tried to be angry at the idiot next to him, but started laughing instead, as they collapsed against the wall before they made their way up to the flat.

“Mrs. Hudson! Dr. Watson will take the other bedroom!” Sherlock snorted then grinned over at him.

“Sez who?”

“The man at the door.” 

And of course, at that moment, there was a knock on the door. “Seriously?”

“Go on -”

“Yeah? Oh, Angelo - “

“Sherlock texted me. Said you forgot -” Angelo held out his walking stick that John had left behind when he had to chase after the idiot he could hear still laughing behind him.

“Thank you, right, yeah.” He closed the door and turned to look at the man who had stopped laughing and was looking at him in a way no one had ever looked at him before. “I think I have to remind you already about rule number two…” He walked over to Sherlock and found his focus had switched to Sherlock’s mouth, not because he was speaking, but because he had just licked his lips, which were now gently parted and -

“Was that the rule about tea, or the one where I don’t leave you behind?” Sherlock’s voice was unsteady and had dropped to a sound that did something peculiar to John’s brain, and breathing, and -

“Sherlock!? What have you done?”

“Damn.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and a twist on the drugs bust scene...

“Lestrade! What is this?” Sherlock stormed through the door and stopped short as he saw ten of the Yard’s not-so-finest going through his kitchen and Lestrade holding court from John’s chair.

“Drugs bust.”

“I’m clean,” Sherlock mumbled and rolled up his sleeve. “I don’t even smoke.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade snorted, and in response showed off his own nicotine patch. “I’m not stupid, you know. I knew if there was in fact a pink case, you’d find it. I’m letting you work this case, but you can’t go off on your own.”

“Rule number three,” John said quietly, nearly to himself, but in a tone that made everyone stop what they were doing. Even Donovan put down the jar of eyeballs she had just pulled out of the microwave.

“WHO is this guy?” Lestrade whispered to Sherlock.

“My new pit bull and flat mate. DI ‘Greg’ Lestrade, this is Dr. John Watson.” John pulled himself up to his full height and somehow managed to stare down the much taller DI. “Formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.”

“Rule number three,” John repeated just as quietly as before but in a slightly firmer, calmer tone. “If you wish to enter these premises again, you will not do so unless its occupants are present, and you have a warrant if one is called for. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, Dr. Watson. However, we did find the pink case here.”

“And if you try to arrest and charge Mr. Holmes with a crime related to the evidence you found in our absence, I’m quite sure it will be thrown out of court, since I’m pretty sure it’s impossible to get a warrant this late at night.” John crossed his arms and smiled at Lestrade in a way that made everyone, including Sherlock stand at attention.

“Everybody put everything back, and leave,” Lestrade growled out, then glanced over at Sherlock who raised an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders at him.

Lestrade waited until everyone had left and Donovan had pulled the door closed behind her without a single word.

“Now, tell me what you two have been up to.”

“He has her phone, we sent a text to the phone number on her case and we got a text back from a blocked number.”

Lestrade closed his eyes and swore under his breath, then mumbled, “and?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but managed to look a bit repentant. “We chased a cab that we thought might have some connection, but the passenger -”

“Sherlock?” Lestrade watched his friend’s face change and knew he had figured out something.

“It wasn’t the passenger, Lestrade - it was the cabbie -”

“Sherlock?”

“Cabbies - no one pays them any attention, we trust them to pick us up and deliver us safely, usually when we’re in a rush to get somewhere, or get caught out in bad weather -”

“Sherlock -” Mrs. Hudson’s voice cut through Sherlock’s words. “There’s a cab for you -”

“I didn’t order a cab, Mrs. Hudson - oh!”

“Sherlock…” Lestrade’s voice held warning in it as John was out of earshot, as he was trying to clear up the mess in the kitchen.

“I - uhm - just need - we’re out of milk…”

“Sherlock, don’t -”

“I’ll be right back.” He flew down the stairs, grabbed his coat from the coat rack and was gone into the night.

John walked out of the kitchen and gave a cursory glance around the flat. “Where - where did he - DI Lestrade?” 

“I think your new flat mate just got in a cab with a serial killer.” Lestrade swore a blue streak, stormed down the stairs and got into the sedan where Donovan was waiting for him, put on the sirens and lights and tore off down Baker Street.

John rolled his eyes and muttered to himself as he ran down the stairs. “Rule number four… don’t get into cars with possible serial killers, damn it, Sherlock, I’m coming.”


	9. Chapter 9

John opened his phone and looked at his contacts, a new one had been added. M. Holmes. He felt his fist start to twitch, but pressed the screen.

“Yeah. Need a location for a taxi with the number OVO4 PYG. Read it back to me. I need it now. Right.” He ended the call and snapped to the driver, “Roland-Kerr Further Education College. As quickly as you can. Please.” John felt in his pocket for his sidearm and wondered briefly if he had lost his mind, or if he had finally regained it.

 

“You’d do just about anything, wouldn’t you, to stop being bored? Always the addict - I can see it in your hand, your eyes, think you hide it so well -” Jefferson Hope watched as Sherlock pushed back his chair and paused ever so slightly, to grab up the vial that sat in front of him, then strode to the door, torn between walking out safely, and his obsessive, driving need to know. He held it up to the light, to see if there was anything - but it was -

“Shall we take our medicine, then?” Hope’s voice grated on him, but he opened the tiny bottle and shook out the capsule, and held it between his fingers…

 

“Oh… shit! Sherlock!” John swore to himself, then without a second thought grabbed out his piece and fired.

 

“Why am I wearing this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me.”

“It’s for shock.” Lestrade smirked, “and the lads, they wanted a snap of you - any ideas?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean he was bad news, could have had enemies, I suppose, didn’t give us much to go on -”

“Really.”

“Gimme.”

“A shot like that? That’s a crack shot, nerves of steel, but waited until he perceived there was a danger to me - strong moral code, years of military service…” Sherlock scanned the small crowd that had gathered and spotted John Watson trying his hardest to look guilty of something. “Hell. Never mind - it’s the shock talking - I have to go talk to - rent -” He pulled off the shock blanket and tossed it back into the ambulance.

“Sherlock!”

“What?!”

“Did you get it right?”

“Get what right?”

“The pill, did you choose the right one?”

Sherlock shook his head. “I dropped the one I was holding when he was shot - I’m sure your people have trampled it to dust by now, and besides it doesn’t matter if I chose right or not, he’s dead and I’m not.”

“Good result then, lad, hmmm?”

Sherlock glared at him for a moment, then nodded. 

“Tomorrow morning, then, and bring your ‘pit bull’ with you, might have a few questions for him too.”

 

“Good shot.”

“Hmm… must’ve been, through that window.”

“Only you’d know. Are you all right?”

John nodded. “Of course I am. He wasn’t a good man.”

“No. No, he wasn’t, was he - and he was a terrible cabbie. You should have seen the route he took to bring us here. By the way, how did you - shit. My brother. What the hell is he doing here?”

“He owed me one.”

“You asked him to locate the cab.”

“You didn’t leave many options. So I used what resources were available to me.”

 

“Another case cracked, then, Sherlock?”

“What do you want, Mycroft?”

“Just wanted to make certain you were still in one piece. Dr. Watson, how very nice to see you again.”

Sherlock snorted and grabbed John by the arm. “Try not to start any wars, before we get home, Myc, you know what it does to the traffic…” He turned them back towards Baker Street then stopped suddenly, and muttered, “rule number 4: Always delete my brother’s number from your phone should it appear.”

“Nope. Rule number 4 is “Never get into a cab with a possible serial killer.”

“Fine, Rule 5, then.”

“Dinner?” John grinned, as he heard Sherlock’s stomach growl over the deafening chaos of the crime scene.

“Hmm. Dim sum? There is a good Chinese place a block from the flat. You can tell the good Chinese restaurants from the bottom third of the door handle…”

John shook his head then muttered out in wonder. “You were going to take the bloody pill, weren’t you?”

“Of course I wasn’t. Don’t be stupid. I knew you were coming.”

“You did not.”

“I was hoping.” Sherlock admitted quietly. 

John nodded, then cleared his throat. “I bet you can deduce the fortune cookies before you break them open.”

“Sometimes… left shoulder?”

“Hmm?”

“You were wounded, but it was your left shoulder, not your leg.”

“Yer just guessing now," John laughed, and Sherlock froze, then pulled John into a shadow and kissed him awkwardly, but sweetly, then stopped and waited, to see what John would do. John growled and pushed him against the wall and kissed him until they both gasped for breath.

“I never guess. Rule number 6 -”

“Rule number 6: You don’t ever leave me behind.”

“Isn’t that already number 2?”

“Yeah, it is. Just wanted to see if you were paying attention.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> seven, eight, and nine...

“Rule…?”

“Nine, we’re at nine -” John whimpered as Sherlock pushed him against the wall, just before they entered the bedroom.

“Wait.”

“Hmm? What?” John opened his eyes and stared up into Sherlock’s shimmering green eyes.

“What happened to seven and eight?”

“Seven, uhm, seven was - oh, right. ‘No matter how much you loathe my jumpers, you don’t get to use them as test subjects.’”

“Hmm. I agreed to that?”

“Uhmhmm… I was feeding you a dumpling at the time, but you did nod.”

“Right, and eight?”

“Eight. ‘John will buy the milk, bread and jam…’“

“Don’t forget the honey…”

“No. I won’t forget the - damnnnn… do that again…”

“This?”

“Hmmm…”

“Nine… is hmmm… here, nine is, ‘no talking about the work in bed.’“

Sherlock sighed but muttered impatiently, "‘fine.. fine, just, damn, get this jumper off already!”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules 10 and 11

John blinked at the afternoon light, then down at the man sprawled on the bed next to him, and wondered if he was in the midst of the most realistic dream he’d ever had or…

“Rule number 10,” the figure grumbled out. “No thinking in bed before noon.”

“Git. It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Really?” Sherlock sat up and grinned shyly at him. “I - uhm - I don’t normally - make mistakes.”

John froze, but took a breath and waited.

“At Angelo’s - when you asked, whether I had any attachments.”

“Uhm-hmm?”

“I don’t. Do ‘this.’ By ‘this’ I mean, I don’t have friends. let alone…” He rolled his eyes at John and sighed. “Lestrade - he’s a colleague, an associate, who I owe my life to, but a friend? I don’t know. Mrs. Hudson? She’s more of a mum to me than my own ever was, but friends?” He shrugged. “So, when you wanted to know, when you tried to - I -”

John smiled at him, then pushed his fingers into the mess of curls and pulled him into a warm, life-defining kiss. He drew back and grinned as he watched Sherlock’s eyes flutter open again.

“Rule number 11: No talking before tea.”

Sherlock nodded, then pushed John back into the pillows and snogged him mercilessly into the bed.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules 12-15...

"Number 12... really? Do I really need to actually say -"

"Fine, _fine, _I'll work on the specimens at the lab." Sherlock growled out as he kissed the freckle on John's collarbone. "As long as you..."__

__"As long as I what?" John managed to mumble as he was pushed against the counter and lost to Sherlock's fingers sliding under his t-shirt._ _

__"Rule 13..." Sherlock drawled out in _that _voice that could make John do or say anything, and they both knew it. "No trying to trick me into eating..."___ _

____"Trick you?"_ _ _ _

____"Mmmmhmmm..."_ _ _ _

____"Then Rule 14, you have to at least sit with me when I eat every meal, no dashing off on a case without me..."_ _ _ _

____Sherlock pulled back and studied John's flushed features. "That sounds like two rules, and isn't that second part covered by 2 _and _6?" He placed a single finger on John's trembling bottom lip and shook his head. "You really are afraid I'll leave you behind."___ _ _ _

______"I trust history, and when you took off the second time, it nearly - you nearly -"_ _ _ _ _ _

______"But I didn't, John."_ _ _ _ _ _

______John shook his head and laid his hand over Sherlock's racing heart. "Already, I've known you less than seventy-two hours, and I can't imagine my life without you in it. So I need you to remember that you aren't alone anymore, Sherlock."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Rule 14, I will eat with you at every meal, even when I'm on a case. For you." John searched his eyes and nodded._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Thank you."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Rule 15, you will stop worrying so much."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Can't."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Rule 15, John Watson will do his very best not to worry about Sherlock Holmes."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"Very well."_ _ _ _ _ _


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules 16 - 18...

"Up, here we go, one more step, and home." Sherlock helped John cross the threshold and to the couch, then knelt in front of him and gingerly removed his mud covered shoes, and rolled his eyes as he watched him nearly fall asleep sitting up. "Nope... nope, nope... rule 16. How should I put this?"

"Don't yell," John groaned as his head felt like it would shatter into pieces if he moved the wrong way.

"What precisely were you thinking?" Sherlock got to his feet and wrapped his arm around John's waist, then helped him to bed.

"What was _I _thinking?" John muttered, then stopped speaking as Sherlock began to unbutton his shirt, and slowly eased it from his shivering form.__

__"Rule 16: John Watson may not, under any circumstances, risk his neck or any other part of his person in order to -"_ _

__"Rule 17: Sherlock Holmes is not allowed, under any circumstances to lecture John Watson about acting like a moron."_ _

__"Rule 18: I can and will when acting like a moron nearly gets you killed." Sherlock muttered as he worked John's trousers from his legs, then froze as he saw the enormous bruise that was already forming on John's thigh. "Damn it, John, you were fortunate that - you, John?" He shook his head as John rolled onto his side and snored. "I need you, John. Never wanted to - didn't expect to ever - hell." He winced as he slowly undressed then climbed into bed next to John and tucked around him, as if in apology for not being quick enough to stop him from getting hurt. "You have to be more careful, John - I can't lose you -"_ _

__"Love you too," John mumbled back and gave Sherlock's hand a gentle squeeze before he turned once more in his arms, nestled against his chest and sighed contentedly as he went back to sleep. As exhausted as Sherlock had been just a moment earlier, he now found he couldn't bear to close his eyes, afraid to miss a second of time with the first person who had found something to love in him. Something worth protecting. After several hours, he gave up trying to understand, and finally dropped off into a restless slumber._ _


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules 19 and 20...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, all <3

To be clear, both of them hated Christmas. With a passion. However. Since they were now a couple, things were _expected_ and with a bit of prodding from Mrs. Hudson, they reluctantly agreed to host a party.

__"Rule 19...."_ _

__John looked down at him from the ladder where he was stringing the fairy lights. under Sherlock's careful supervision. "Seriously, at Christmas?"_ _

__"You started it. I just think there should be some guidelines, so perhaps in the future we won't be shanghaied into this nonsense."_ _

__John shrugged and climbed down, pulled out the knife from the mantle that secured the 'list' which had gone through many erasures and scratch outs, not to mention the odd stain, which he knew he didn't wish to recall where and when they came from, and picked up the document, then collapsed into his chair. "Rule 19."_ _

__"Hmm... alright. 'Sherlock will only play two carols over the duration of the party.'"_ _

__John blinked up at him._ _

__Sherlock rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. "Well 'tis the season, John, and you know Mrs. Hudson, she will simply nag until I do it, so I might as well have some control from the getgo."_ _

__"Right, of course."_ _

__"Rule 20...."_ _

__"No mistletoe."_ _

__"No mistletoe?"_ _

__"Well - I just think it encourages..."_ _

__"Encourages...?"_ _

__John felt himself flush and tried to focus on what his point was. "I mean, there will be alcohol... and people, especially the people we know do tend to get silly, and at Christmas... I don't want..."_ _

__"You don't want -" Sherlock knelt in front of him and grinned._ _

__"I don't want anyone getting the idea that anyone else is allowed to kiss you."_ _

__Sherlock's breath caught, then he nodded, and whispered in a rough voice, "jealousy is usually not a good colour on most people, John, but - party's not until tomorrow... we don't need to decorate right now, do we?"_ _

__"No mistletoe?"_ _

__"Definitely no mistletoe, can we just -"_ _

__John nodded and laid the paper and pen aside, and pulled Sherlock into a needy, possessive kiss. "Back to bed?"_ _

__"Please..."_ _


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule 21

There have been many different versions of Rule 21, in fact, in a fit of frustration, or simply vexation on Sherlock's part, the original list was destroyed due to Rule 21. Rule 21 in its most recent form takes up two pages, and is added to and subtracted from on a regular basis.

"No. Uh-uh. Nope. Absolutely not. Rule 21: Absolutely no pets."

Sherlock was standing in the kitchen soaked head to toe, with a bedraggled and equally wet and only slightly smellier dog in his arms. He hissed out, between chattering teeth, "there is no Rule 21, you are just making it up to suit your purposes."

"We can't take care of a dog, Sherlock, we barely take care of ourselves, I mean, _I _can barely take of ourselves, what if something happens -"__

__"Nothingggg will happppennn, John. I will take care of him. You won't have to do a thing. Please, John?"_ _

__John rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, then the dog looked up at him with deep brown eyes and raised an eyebrow at him. "Damn - how did - give him to me. You need a shower, and then you need to sit by the fire. Hand him here. Name?"_ _

__"How did you know I had a name for him already?" Sherlock's voice was barely a croak and John knew he would lose his voice shortly, as he always did when he was out in elements for too long. John rolled his eyes as Sherlock put the shivering dog into his arms, and mumbled out, "Gladstone," then disappeared down the hallway._ _

__" _Gladstone. _Sorry, boy. Quite a name to stick you with, come on, let's get you cleaned up then..."___ _

____ _ _

____***Author's Note***_ _ _ _

____Rule 21, at the moment, reads as follows:_ _ _ _

____Gladstone is Sherlock's dog. Sherlock shall take care of him, meaning, he is responsible for:_ _ _ _

______feeding  
walking  
vet's visits  
bathing  
grooming, etc, as needs arise 

____John will help as needed, especially on the occasions that Sherlock is kidnapped by his brother or other nefarious persons. He will not take over the duties simply because Sherlock is in a mood, strop, or engaged in an experiment, that he shouldn't have started in the first place, (see Rules 7 and 12) and there is to be _no poisoning of said dog,_ (see 21.a) even in the name of science._ _ _ _

____The above is the short version of Rule 21, though the amendments run to two pages, and as mentioned earlier in the narrative are still amended as often as required. Of course, John and Mrs. Hudson, and even Mycroft after a fashion have grown very attached to Gladstone, though he is and always will be Sherlock's dog._ _ _ _


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule 22

"You can't be serious." Sherlock sneezed once, twice, then three times and glared at John from his covers.

John crossed his arms and waited.

"But, Johhhhhn."

Even Gladstone lifted his head and raised a knowing eyebrow in his direction.

"Traitor," Sherlock sniffed pitifully, and rolled away from him.

"Rule 22 is in play: 'If one or more of the occupants of 221B Baker Street have a temperature of over 102, said occupants do not leave 221B Baker Street until fever has broken, and the occupant/s is/are no longer miserable git/s.'" 

"But -"

"I don't care if it's a locked room murder. I don't care if it's twins, or Jack the Ripper risen from the dead."

"It's never twins, John." He sneezed again, and sighed, finally surrendering. "Can you at least come back to bed?"

"That I can and will do."

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as John switched off the light, then curled around him.

"Are you sure it's never twins?"

"John..."

"Go back to sleep, I'm sure there will be something soon, don't worry, just rest, yeah?"

"Just this once."

"Uh-huh."

"I hate it when you are right."

"I know."

"Love you."

"Yeah, love you too, even when you are a miserable pain in the arse."

"Yeah?"

"Of course."

"Idiot."

"Watch it."


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule 23... the sock index, a bit on the angsty side

Even as they eventually shared almost everything in a short period of time; the flat, the cases, Sherlock's king sized bed, there was one thing John learned never to touch, after a week-long treatment of stroppy silence, only ended by the addition of Rule 23, which went as follows:

 

John Watson may not touch, break into, or otherwise disturb Sherlock's sock index.

 

Of course, John had good reason, or believed that he had good reason to disturb said sock index as Sherlock had, after a brutal case, at its conclusion had abruptly risen from the chair in Lestrade's office and left without a word. Lestrade had simply shrugged as if this was a common occurrence, and had, before John had closed the door to his office, offered him a bit of advice, "he's probably heading to one of his bolt holes, he just needs time. Just one thing, John?"

"Hmm?"

"Whatever you do, don't touch the sock index."

"The what?"

"Shit. He hasn't warned you not to -" Lestrade looked at John for a long moment, as if seeing him for the first time. "He really -"

"What?"

"No, it's just he must really trust you - the locked drawer, in his bureau. I only opened it once, had to - his brother wouldn't, it's how I knew where to find him the last time. Never mind. He'll be back, John, he has a reason this time, besides just the work, he has..." Lestrade's phone buzzed then, and he sighed and rolled his eyes in John's direction.

"He has...?"

"You, you idiot. Go to Baker Street and wait, he'll be home soon. Yeah, Lestrade. Be there soon. Go on - go have a wash, eat something, rest, try not to worry, it may take a couple of days. This was a rough one, he takes it personally when someone hurts a kid. I got work to do - go."

John nodded and went; and waited for three days before he jimmied the lock on the sock index, and realised as he opened it, that in all likelihood he'd just ruined the best and truest relationship he'd ever had. Inside the drawer was a carefully arranged collection of socks, yes, but also a stack of journals and an envelope with the inscription, "For JHW, in case of my untimely demise."

"Shit." He closed the drawer, retired to bed, and after a restless hour of tossing and turning, fell asleep. He woke five hours later when a freshly shaved and showered Sherlock climbed into bed, curled around him and slept like the dead for twelve hours.

 

"I shouldn't have done it. Against all odds, you've managed to respect my privacy. I was worried. I should have trusted you, that you'd come back on your own. I didn't read anything, as soon as I realised, I closed the drawer again. I apologise."

Sherlock nodded sharply as John slid the newly edited list of rules towards him, with the twenty-third rule neatly printed out in bold India ink. "I'm sorry, too, I should have been able to tell you, I'd never had anyone to go home to after such a case and I reverted to old habits, to lick my wounds as a fox would after a hunt. I didn't revert completely -"

"I know."

Sherlock looked up at John and a brief smile touched his generous mouth. "I see that you do. Good. Tea?"

"Please."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules 24 - 27

It had started with the short friend comment from weeks earlier, which John had taken in stride, as they had been on a case, and Sherlock had been fighting a cold, and not in his right mind. But that morning, before John had even made his tea, Sherlock made some casual remark as he always did about the most recent title of the blog post he was working on, and John lost it; picked up his keys, grabbed his jacket from the coat rack and walked out of the flat without a word.

 

9:02  
John. - S

9:15  
Really? - S

10:00  
This is about the short friend comment. - S

10:12  
Nope. - J

10:13  
It is. - S

10:20  
You know how I get when hewhoshallnotbenamed kidnaps me off a case, and I had a cold. - S

10:30  
The title is fine. Better than. I made a fresh pot of tea. If you were here now, you would see me humbly on my knees begging your forgiveness. -S

10:33  
Rule 24: No more short comments. Of any kind. Ever again.  
Rule 25: Sherlock will not make derisive comments, or even think a single derisive thought about the titles. Promise  
Rule 26. When Sherlock is a jerk to John, he will make tea for a month. For two months when John has to tell him he's been a jerk. - S

10:35  
John, please come home. 

10:40  
John?

 

John took the phone from Sherlock's trembling hand, turned it off, then placed it on the desk, and kissed Sherlock's shoulder. "Sorry I walked out. Rule 27: John will not walk out on Sherlock ever again. He will stay and talk."

"Promise?"

"I promise."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule 28

"John?"

Sherlock blinked at the crowd of people in their flat, and understood at once that he had been set up. He hadn't even realised that John had known when his birthday was until he remembered that John was now his medical proxy, so of course he knew everything there was to know about him, including his date of birth, number of scars, and his allergy to penicillin.

Molly kissed his cheek, then grabbed him by both hands and led him into the brightly decorated flat, balloons, streamers, and dear god, glitter... glitter in all colours, shapes and sizes covered every surface of their flat. She paused and let go of his hands so she could place them on his cheeks and look into his eyes. "Don't."

"Don't what?" He whispered in an uncertain voice.

"These people are here because they like you, and they love John, so be nice."

He nodded and allowed her to settle him on the couch as John and Mike carried over the most enormous cake he'd ever seen and began singing to him. He knew there was something he should do, but he was trying to remember the last time someone had ever been around on his birthday, let alone given him a cake. "Make a wish and blow the candles out," Molly whispered as the song came to an end. He rolled his eyes and nodded at her as if he had known all along. She winked at him and he shrugged, actually thought of a wish, closed his eyes and blew out all of them in one go.

 

"Not too much over the top, was it?" John asked as he closed the door, and leaned against it, completely knackered after the last revelers had finally departed five hours later.

Sherlock shook his head, then nodded as he moved to stand in front of him. He kissed him lightly, then pulled him into his arms, and murmured, "rule 28:"

"No glitter ever again. Agreed."

"Thank you, John."

"Happy Birthday, Sherlock."


	20. List of House Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Rules...

Rule Number One: John Watson will make his own tea. Sherlock Holmes will make his, unless one is incapacitated, or the other feels so inclined to make tea for the other.

Rule Number Two: Sherlock Holmes will not leave John Watson behind.

Rule Number Three: If you wish to enter these premises again, you will not do so unless its occupants are present, and you have a warrant if one is called for.(for those members of NSY who visit Baker Street, or CIA, FBI, or whomever Mycroft is working for at the moment)

Rule Number Four: Sherlock Holmes will not get into cars with possible serial killers.

Rule Number Five: John Watson will, in the future always delete my brother’s number from your phone should it appear. 

Rule Number Six: See Rule Number Two.

Rule Number Seven: No matter how much Sherlock loathes my jumpers, Sherlock doesn't get to use them as test subjects.

Rule Number Eight: John will buy the milk, bread and jam. 

Rule Number Nine: No talking about the work in bed. 

Rule Number Ten: No thinking in bed before noon.

Rule Number Eleven: No talking before tea.

Rule Number Twelve: No specimens in the flat.

Rule Number Thirteen: No tricking Sherlock into eating.

Rule Number Fourteen: You have to at least sit with me when I eat every meal.

Rule Number Fifteen: John Watson will stop worrying so much about Sherlock Holmes.

Rule Number Sixteen: John Watson may not, under any circumstances, risk his neck or any other part of his person in order to protect anyone, especially Sherlock Holmes.

Rule Number Seventeen: Sherlock Holmes is not allowed, under any circumstances to lecture John Watson when he acts like a moron when trying to protect Sherlock Holmes.

Rule Number Eighteen: I can and will if acting like a moron, while trying to protect me, nearly gets you killed.

Rule Number Nineteen: Sherlock will only play two carols over the duration of the party.

Rule Number Twenty: No mistletoe.

Rule Number Twenty-One: Absolutely no pets. (see addendum in reference to the presence of Gladstone)

Rule Number Twenty-Two: If one or more of the occupants of 221B Baker Street have a temperature of over 102, said occupants do not leave 221B Baker Street until fever has broken, and the occupant/s is/are no longer miserable git/s.

Rule Number Twenty-Three: John Watson may not touch, break into, or otherwise disturb Sherlock's sock index.

Rule Number Twenty-Four: No more short comments. Of any kind. Ever again.

Rule Number Twenty-Five: Sherlock will not make derisive comments, or even think a single derisive thought about the titles of John's blog posts.

Rule Number Twenty-Six: When Sherlock is a jerk to John, he will make tea for a month. When John has to tell him he's been a jerk, he has to make tea for two months.

Rule Number Twenty-Seven: John will not walk out on Sherlock ever again. He will stay and talk.

Rule Number Twenty-Eight: No glitter _ever _.__

__

__These rules were the first twenty-eight of thirty-eight rules that hung on the fridge from the first week of Sherlock and John's relationship until the day they married three years later. The other ten were too, shall we say, _personal __, to be released to the public. However, the thirty-ninth rule was included in their vows, and added to the list of House Rules, which remained on the fridge until the day they retired to their farmhouse in Sussex, twenty-seven years later.___

____ _ _

_____Rule Number Thirty-Nine: Together, or not at all, forever and always. ____ _ _ _


End file.
